A Place to Call Home
by LadyofDodge
Summary: As Ben Stack began to spin yarns of ranching and riding and barroom brawls in the Arizona desert, Matt pulled his hat low on his forehead and leaned back in his chair, lost in even older, and very different, memories of his own.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This story was inspired by a line at the end of "The Man Who Would Be Marshal" where Major Egan asks, "You ever been to California, Marshal?" Matt replies, "Not for some time." I got to wondering when he had been there and under what circumstances. And, I borrowed Ben Stack from the Season 10 episode "Honey Pot" to help me find out.

**XXXXX**

**A Place to Call Home, Part 1 **

Kitty propped her elbows on the green felt, leaned her chin on her clasped hands and smiled at her companions. Across the expanse of beer mugs, shot glasses and a half-empty whiskey bottle, Ben Stack smiled back. If it weren't for the seductive blonde leaning over his shoulder and whispering into his ear, he would have taken more than a little interest in the gorgeous redhead, but he had been smitten by the blonde hours earlier.

Stack traced an index finger slowly down her arm. "You go ahead and serve those drinks, Honey. I'm in good hands with the marshal here, and we'll go for a walk after you get off work."

Honey Dare patted his shoulder and sashayed away to pick up four mugs of beer for the cowboys playing poker in the far corner of the saloon.

Stack turned to Dillon, "Just like the old days, hunh, Matt? Smoky bar, good whiskey, pretty girls...yeah, those were the days."

Matt glanced uneasily at the redhead seated close beside him. "Uh, Ben, could you maybe not..."

"Oh, no, you don't," Kitty shot back, slapping playfully at the coarse sleeve of his shirt. "I've been waiting a lot of years to meet someone willing to tell me the truth about that alleged wild youth of yours. You're not going to spoil this for me." She smiled at the new man in town. "Go on Ben. Matt tells me you two rode together for five years down in Arizona Territory. 'A little cowboy-ing, a little hell-raising' was the way he put it."

Ben looked across the table at his old friend, took a long swallow of whiskey and grinned at Kitty. "Yeah, we rode together—among other things. Got in trouble together, too, but I could always count on the big guy here to get us out of it." As Stack began to spin yarns of ranching and riding and barroom brawls in the Arizona desert, Matt pulled his hat low on his forehead and leaned back in his chair, lost in even older, and very different, memories of his own.

XXXXX

_He walked along the waterfront with the slightly rolling gait of one who had not set foot on land in a long time. Which, in fact, was true. His unit had been on the move when word reached them that General Lee had surrendered at Appomattox, and within weeks the men were mustered out. After an achingly long and wretched three years, he was finally free to trade in his ragged blue uniform for his Stetson and badge and return to the land and the law he loved. _

_But after several days on the long ride west, he found himself unable to travel another mile across the burnt and ransacked earth that still echoed with the moans of the dying, still reeked with the odor of the dead. He made camp for the night, and by morning he had made a decision. He had no family, no ties of either a personal or professional nature that demanded his immediate return to…well, to any place in particular. _

_While by no means a drifter, he was restless and curious by nature, and he had already lived numerous places and worked a variety of jobs in his young life—from the dingy little border towns of his native Texas to the sprawling, wind-swept plains of Kansas and Missouri. One more job and one more place wouldn't make any difference. Dousing the campfire and swallowing down the last dregs of chicory-laced coffee, he climbed into the saddle, glanced at the early morning sky, and kicked Julius, the government-issued black gelding cavalrymen were allowed to keep "in partial remuneration for services to the Union," into a trot. _

_With the battlefields of Shiloh, Chickamauga, Chattanooga, and Kennesaw Mountain behind him, geographically, at least, he worked his way to Mobile, the nearest port city, and offered his services to the first ship's captain he found in the harbor. The older man, who had spent the war years slipping through the Yankee blockade of southern seaports, shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted up—and up-at the tall, lanky young man whose own blue eyes were old beyond his years. "So you need work, hunh? Not escapin' from anywhere are you, son?" he asked quietly._

_The younger man responded with a shy smile. "Only from my memories, sir." He held out a massive hand. "Name's Matt Dillon."_

"_You ever been to sea before?"_

"_No, but…"_

"_No matter," the captain interrupted and tilted his head upward again. "Can you read and write?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_You'll do then, but you're gonna have to remember to keep your head down. Low ceilings below deck." This time the captain was the first to extend his hand. "Danner's the name, Calvin Danner. Let me tell you what I need while you still have time to change your mind."_

_Dillon listened intently as Captain Danner explained the job. The _Lottie Lou_ was a privately financed cargo tramp bound for the port of Chagres in Panama, but the cargo itself was destined for San Francisco. It would be Dillon, along with one other crew member, who would accompany the goods on the entire route from Florida's gulf coast to the California port, a hazardous and exhausting trip of approximately four and a half months and 5,400 miles through the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean, the jungles of Panama and, finally, up the west coast of Mexico and the United States to the city of San Francisco._

"_First leg's generally easy enough," Danner commented and continued to explain. Once in Chagres, the cargo would be off-loaded, and both it and the men would travel by pack mule until they reached the railway. Men and cargo would then continue by rail across the narrow strip of land known as the Isthmus of Panama until they reached Panama City on the opposite coast. "And this is the most dangerous part. Whole damned route runs through jungles and swamps filled with mosquitoes big as your head. We've lost more'n one to malaria and the fevers, to say nothin' of attacks and robberies by the natives." _

"_If you make it across, you'll likely have to set a while," he continued, referring to the fact that both cargo and men would have to wait for the west coast transport, the _Pacific Star_, to make port in Panama City, where the cargo again would be loaded aboard ship and continue its way up the Pacific coast and into the turbulent waters of San Francisco Bay. "But, barrin' any bad storms, you'll be home free. I'll give you an advance on your pay now, and the rest'll be waitin' for you on the other end. A lot of m'boys decide to stay out there, but if you want, you're welcome to come back east the same way. You think you're up to it? It's not too late to say no."_

"_I'll do it," Dillon responded. A few minutes later the papers were signed, and he tucked a card bearing an address in San Francisco where he would pick up the remainder of his pay into his pocket. With one last handshake, the former ranch hand, drover, cow puncher, lawman and army corporal found himself, at the age of twenty-five, officially embarking on yet another career—that of able-bodied seaman. He leaned back on his heels and tilted his head upward, his eyes following the line of the mast all the way to the very top. He took a deep breath. He wasn't a stranger to dangerous jobs, and the destination didn't matter—Cuba, the South Seas, the Orient, the Pacific. He didn't care, so long as it was a place free from gut-gnawing hunger and dysentery, scorched and barren earth, bloodied fields and the stench of death. _

_And he found he wasn't alone. On the ships, on the train, and in every waterfront bar, he met other men like himself. Whether they had worn the tattered blue wool of the union soldier or the threadbare gray broadcloth and butternut homespun of the rebel forces, all were seeking solace, seeking meaning, seeking work, seeking an unblemished place to call home. _

XXXXX

_After months at sea, stretching his legs on something that didn't lift and roll beneath him felt good, and, after locating the address printed on the stained card he had carefully guarded every leg of the journey, he collected his wages, verified that he could, indeed, return east via the same route if he so chose, and set out to take a look around. The swirling fog and mist made the night feel cold and damp, and he walked faster, pulling the collar of his dark blue pea coat closer around his neck. On first impression, he found the city by the bay an exotic and untamed place, still resonating with the spirit of the Forty-niners and the gold rush—vibrant, unscarred by war, and full of hope for the future. _

_He walked for probably an hour before rumblings in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He wished he had thought to ask Gunnar, the crewman who had made the journey with him and a veteran of several crossings, about a restaurant with filling food and cheap prices, but the big Swede had walked with him the few blocks to the Seaman's Rooming House, introduced him to Bertha Ganzer, the landlady, dropped his bag and hurried off, mumbling shyly that his girl was waiting._

_Almost hidden among the warehouses and bars that populated the streets surrounding the docks, he saw a small storefront building, the window of which was covered with strange characters he assumed to be the Chinese language. And taped to the corner nearest the door was a small sign penciled in crooked capitals: _FOOD GOOD_. A heavy sea spray coated the outside of the window and condensation formed on the inside, making it difficult to see into the crowded room. But he peered through the glass and was able to discern a throng of men, most of whom were wearing coats similar to his own, the traditional garb of a seaman. _

_Curious and hungry, he pushed through the door and immediately felt heat emanating from the steam pots on the far side of the room. His broad shoulders cut a path through the crowd and he worked his way to a table with two men and a vacant chair. "All right if I sit down?" _

_The older man nodded his consent while his companion inexpertly juggled rice, meat, and vegetables between two sticks that appeared to be made of bone or ivory. He glanced at the menu—a schoolroom slate propped against the wall, but when a young Chinese boy came to take his order, he simply pointed to the rice and meat dish and said, "Make mine the same."_

"_New to Chinese food, are ye?" the older man questioned. _

_He grinned. "As a matter of fact, I am."_

"_It's not bad, and you get a lot of it for four bits—includes all the tea you can drink and all the steamed dumplings you can eat. Name's Quinn—Malachy Quinn, and my half-starved friend here is Ben Stack."_

_He nodded. "Matt Dillon. So, what are we eating, Stack?"_

_The other man, who appeared to be about his own age, stopped eating long enough to swallow down some tea and reply. "They call it pepper steak. It's good, and they'll give you a fork if you ask."_

"_You're new to the waterfront, ain't ya?" Quinn questioned. "How long you been in town?" _

"_Couple hours." Dillon wrapped a huge hand around the diminutive tea cup and took a healthy swallow of the hot liquid. "How'd you know?"_

"_Well, for one thing you don't smell like fish and brine." Quinn helped himself to a steamed dumpling from the dish in the center of the table, took a large bite, and continued. "You lookin' for work?"_

_Matt considered the question as a heaping plate of rice, steak and green peppers was placed in front of him. He noted that the waiter had considerately brought a fork as well as the unwieldy chopsticks, and he smiled his thanks. "Maybe. You have something in mind?" he answered as he tucked a frayed napkin under his chin and dug into his food. _

"_Wharfie." At Dillon's puzzled look, the older man explained. "Longshoreman. I always need big, strong men to load and unload cargo." _

"_I'll think about it," he replied and returned to the plate in front of him. Dillon's natural reticence, coupled with a caution born of his tenure as lawman, made him a less than chatty dinner partner, but it mattered not, as the gregarious Quinn kept up a steady stream of conversation whether his companions responded or not. From Malachy Quinn's ramblings, he discerned that the banty little man was an Irish immigrant who had arrived in San Francisco twenty years earlier as deckhand on a small freighter. Since then, he had risen to one of the most respected positions on the waterfront, operations manager for cargo ships entering and leaving the port. _

_Ben Stack, according to Quinn, hailed from the east—Doylestown, Pennsylvania, to be specific. He was a salesman turned cowboy turned gambler, drifting from coast to coast, enjoying life and working only when necessary. He and Malachy Quinn had become friends quite by accident a year earlier when they faced each other over a disputed hand at a poker table in a Montgomery Street gambling palace._

_His plate scraped clean, Dillon threw a coin on the table and stood to leave. "I'd best be moving along. Thanks for the company and conversation, gentlemen." He turned to Quinn. "If I decide to take that job, where can I find you?"_

"_Right here most nights. Daytime you can find me at m'office—foot of Post Street—red brick building, sign says "_OPERATIONS._"_

_Stack stood with him. "You want to take in a bit of the city's night life? The Irishman here always declines, says he's too old for that sort of thing, but what about it, Dillon? There's a new show at the Hippodrome, about three blocks over."_

"_Why not?" he replied, and by the end of the evening, a friendship had formed._

XXXXX

The sound of Kitty's laughter jolted Matt back to the present, and he focused his attention on Ben's latest tale of their years in Arizona. "...signed on to do some scouting for the army, heading down to Ft. Huachuca, but along the way we found a baby—couldn't have been more than a couple months old. No one else around—no wagon, no horse, nothing—just a very tiny, very hungry little girl. Needless to say, we couldn't accommodate her much in the way of food, but we did our best—fed her water by wetting the corner of a bandana and letting her suck on it. Smashed up a bean or two and mixed it with water 'til it was mostly liquid. We'd dip our fingertip in it and let her suck it down that way. Gave her little drops of sugar water the same way. One morning we came across a mule deer with her fawn, and Matt here decided to milk her. Said if it was good for her baby, it was good for our baby, too. We tried ropin' them and taking them with us, but the fawn couldn't keep up and kept wandering off, so we milked the mamma again, and turned 'em loose. I tell you, Kitty, we just might be the first scouting party ever to cross the desert with a whiskey flask full of deer milk."

Ben took a long swallow of beer and continued. "We took turns holding her when we were in the saddle, and when we made camp for the night, we'd empty one of the saddle bags, lay it on the ground, wrap her up and stuff her in there—kind of papoose style. It was slow traveling with Callie—that's what we named her—stopping every couple hours to feed or change her—or to wash her clothes. We cut our long johns into diapers and tied 'em on her, but they…well, let's just say they didn't last forever. It took us about twelve days to cross that desert and find civilization, but we made it. And, if I do say so myself, we handed a pretty healthy and happy baby over to the company doctor at Ft. Huachuca."

Kitty shook her head. "That's amazing. You two playing nursemaid—I'd have paid good money to see that." She grinned. "Do you have any idea what happened to her?"

"Some of the officers at the fort had their wives with them. The doctor and the first lieutenant both assured us she wouldn't be wanting for a loving family."

Matt pushed his hat back on his head and stood. "Well, this has been very…uh…entertaining, but I need to make my rounds. Ben, you want to walk along with me or you gonna stay here and keep on stretching the truth for Kitty?"

"Actually, I promised the lovely Honey I'd go for a walk with her when she finishes work, so guess I'll just wait here 'til she's ready."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." Matt touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. "I'll see you later, Kitty."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Place to Call Home**

**Part 2**

Sometime after midnight, the redhead twisted in the lawman's arms and said, "I like your friend. Were all of those stories true…the two of you drinking five horse thieves under the table—literally—and then lashing them to the table legs 'til the sheriff could get there to arrest them? And finding the baby—that really happen the way Ben said? And did you actually steal a cow and ride it twenty miles into Prescott to find a lawman?"

"I didn't _steal_ the cow, Kitty. I only borrowed her. I took her back the next day and gave the farmer a dollar for her use. But, yeah, they're all true. We really were that reckless—and that young." His lips smiled, but his tone was cheerless.

"What's wrong, then? You barely said two dozen words the entire evening. Don't you like him? You said you were friends."

"Oh, I like him, Kitty. I like him just fine. It's just that…well, seeing Ben again reminds me of some things I'd rather not think about."

"Hmmm, this is getting interesting." She shifted again to better see his face. "Did something bad happen down in Arizona Territory?"

He was quiet for a long time before replying. "It wasn't in Arizona, but, yeah, something bad did happen. It was in San Francisco, and it was a long time ago."

"San Fran…? Matt, in all the years I've known you, all the times I've talked about going back there, you never once mentioned you've ever been to California, much less to San Francisco!"

"There are some things a man would prefer to forget about, Kitty."

"Now I _am_ intrigued. Go on, I'm listening."

"Kitty, I really…"

He sucked in his breath as she trailed her finger tips down the flat planes of his stomach and said sweetly, "Sometimes the best way to get rid of a bad memory is to share it with a friend, you know."

He chuckled. "I'm not sure I've ever heard that one before, but all right, I'll tell you." He pushed himself up against the headboard and reached for her again. "Settle in."

XXXXX

"…and so I went to work for Malachy Quinn. I liked working on the docks, being outdoors again. The pay was better than average, and I had nothing else to do at the time. Worked hard all day and played hard…well, some nights. It was good—for a while anyway. "

"Don't tell me. Quinn was importing something illegal. Opium or prostitutes?"

"Nah, Quinn was honest as the day is long. But not all the cargo bosses on the waterfront were like him."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? And you felt it your duty to notify the authorities," she said flatly and with a certainty born of years of experience.

"Well…yeah, something like that. Thing was, the bad guy in this instance was Quinn's partner, who also happened to be his brother Nolan. Some things just didn't seem right, so I did some checking. I found out that if it was illegal, Nolan Quinn was importing it." He paused, remembering. "I went to Malachy first, and we went to the authorities together. Somehow, Nolan got wind of what we were doing, and he arranged for some…uh, friends…of his to have us 'permanently disposed of' was the way he put it."

"Both of you? His own brother?"

"Yeah. I guess blood isn't thicker than cold hard cash." His voice was low and bitter.

"What happened, Matt?"

"Quinn and I were on one of the boats late at night. It was going out the next day, and we were in the hold, double checking the cargo against the manifest. I heard a noise and went above to investigate. That's when they struck—when we were separated. About six of Nolan's thugs jumped me and took me down." He pushed out a sigh and continued. "I heard Malachy scream, but I couldn't get to him. The deck was wet, and I couldn't get my footing with half a dozen goons all over me. He took a grappling hook straight through the chest. Probably died within minutes."

"Oh, how awful!" She quaked at the horror of the image and pressed her face into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Matt. What about you…did they hurt you, too?"

He nodded, his cheek rubbing against her curls. "Yeah. They came at me with brass knuckles. Oh, I put up a fight, managed to knock one or two of 'em out, but I didn't stand much of a chance against all of them. Tried to choke me, too, and they damn near succeeded. Finally, I passed out. That's when they tossed me into the bay. They left me for dead, Kitty. The tide was going out, and I went with it."

"Oh, Matt." She clung to him almost convulsively. "How…how did you manage to survive?"

He remained silent for a long moment, hearing again the snap of his own vertebrae against the wooden deck, feeling thick thumbs pressing into the soft flesh at the base of his throat, feeling, too, the unmitigated panic as air left his body and frigid, wet darkness enveloped him. Finally, he spoke. "I'm not sure…guess they didn't figure on the cold water bringing me around, but it did. I lost track of time, and I think I may have lost consciousness a few more times, too, but eventually I just sort of floated back in with the next tide and crashed into the pilings." He paused, even now shuddering at the memory. "I couldn't heave myself onto the pier, but I managed to get an arm around one of the posts and hang on until the boat crews started milling around in the morning. My throat was kinda messed up, and I couldn't do more than whisper, but I managed to thrash around enough that they heard me and hauled me in."

"Thank God!"

"They sent a runner for a hospital wagon, and that's where I spent the next three weeks. I gotta tell you, those thugs worked me over real good, Kitty."

"Oh, Matt. I wish I had been there to take care of you." She hugged him even tighter. "It…it terrifies me to think how close you came to…that you might not even be here right now…that I might never have met you."

"That was a long time ago, Kitty. Everything's fine now." He pressed his lips against the top of her auburn head. "Anyway, when I was finally able to be up and about again, I was called to testify at the so-called investigation, not that my testimony made any difference. Apparently, Nolan was able to buy off the judge with money from his illicit business dealings, and Malachy's death was ruled an accident."

He paused, and when he spoke again, latent anger was evident in his voice. "An accident! California justice—what a farce! It kind of soured me on the entire state, and I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Ben was ready to move on, too, so we headed east into Arizona Territory. Soon's we got to Yuma, we found work riding range and…well, we worked together there for the better part of five years—a lot of border riding, some ranching, a little scouting for the army."

"And the 'hell-raising.' Don't forget the 'hell-raising,'" she supplied with a smirk.

"Ah, we weren't all that bad, Kitty. Just young and…well, maybe a little foolish." He ran the back of his index finger up the inside of her bare arm and along the side of her silk clad breast, grinning when she shivered. "Then a young lady caught Ben's eye, and he was dead set on following her up to Denver." He shrugged. "So we separated, and I went back to wearing a badge. You know the rest—deputy in Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Brownsville, San Antonio. And finally Dodge City."

"You certainly took a roundabout route to get here, but I'm awfully glad you finally made it." She tugged gently at the light hairs on his chest. "So, is this the end of the trail, Matt? Have you found it?"

"Found what?"

"What you were searching for, that place to call home."

He took a moment to look down at her nestled all soft and warm against his chest, to feel the beat of her heart against his own, and he smiled into the dark. "Yeah, I found it. Not the place itself, but it's where you are, Kitty. That's what makes it home."

"Mmm." She brushed her lips against his throat. "That's so sweet, Matt."

"I mean it, Kitty. I've lived and worked in a lot of places. One town was like another, and it was always the same. I'd take a job, work for a while, and then move on. Dodge was just one more two-bit town and one more fifteen dollar a month job. Truth is, I was getting the urge to move on again." He slid his long body flat on the bed and pulled her on top of him. "Then you got off that stage, and suddenly, I didn't want to leave any more. You're what's made the difference between all those other towns and Dodge," he murmured as he pulled the creamy silk nightgown over her head and tossed it onto the floor.

**The End**


End file.
